'Your Highness has been misinformed,' returned the Landhofmeisterin icily. 'We start, as I have had the honour to tell you, at nine of the clock to-morrow morning. I wish you would accompany me in my coach, Prince Friedrich, it would be a happiness to me to have your protection. May I count on you?' She turned to him with her wonderful smile. Friedrich Ludwig had a place in her affection, and though he never visited her at Favorite or Freudenthal, which wounded her deeply, she bore him no malice. 'In truth, Madame, I shall be proud to escort you in your coach to-morrow. At nine of the clock?' And he bade her good rest. He was grateful to her for thus making it seem a courtesy to her that he should consent to drive instead of riding to the review, for the doctor had told him that evening that he could not ride, and he felt so weak and giddy after his swoon that he knew he dared not mount a horse. The Erbprincessin shot a veiled look of hatred at the Landhofmeisterin. How well the evil woman knew how to cajole men to her will! The Landhofmeisterin repaired to her pavilion, and Maria assisted her to bed. Such a ceremony it was, this retiring to rest of the Landhofmeisterin! Such a profusion of delicious essences; all the perfumes of Araby were used, and she donned the fairest raiment of fine linen. According to custom, Maria left her fastidious mistress ready for sleep and reading a heavy tome of old-world magic by the light of two tall waxen tapers. Hardly had the maid's footsteps ceased to echo on the stone steps of the pavilion, when the Graevenitz flung aside the book and, rising from her chair, listened attentively. Only the monotonous tramp of the sentries in the courtyard, and, more faintly, the same sound from the guards on the north terrace. Still her Excellency listened. Alas! for how many nights of late had she hearkened in vain for the click of the little key in the door from the statue gallery? Eberhard Ludwig never came to her, and as she stood listening her heart bled in anguish for the love that was no more. Could such love really die? she asked herself. If it could, then the vows Eberhard Ludwig had spoken were mockery. Had she built her life on so insecure a foundation? The whole fabric of her being was shattered. Her anguish was almost physical pain, and she knew why people said 'my heart bleeds,' for, of a truth, it seemed to her as though the strength ebbed away from her heart, leaving an aching, yearning void. Courage! she would try again. She lifted the waxen taper and held it between her face and the mirror. Yes, there were lines beneath the eyes; her cheeks were less full and her chin heavier than of yore, but her lips were soft and red, her eyes as blue, as vivid as they had ever been. She knew her hair was streaked with white beneath the powder, but it was still luxuriant. She was beautiful, desirable--but would he desire her? She replaced the taper, glided into the statue gallery, and opened the door leading to